


Snow

by caricari



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluff, Light seasonal pining, Snow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-25
Updated: 2019-11-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 17:07:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21561829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caricari/pseuds/caricari
Summary: A walk in the park. A slightly awkward conversation. And a bit on the romantic nature of snow.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 19
Kudos: 135
Collections: Aziraphale's Library Festive Fic Recs





	Snow

**Author's Note:**

> I know there's still a month to go, but I have no chill. I have long accepted this about myself. Hope you enjoyed this disgusting display of seasonal fluff. Do leave a comment.

_December, 1970. Hyde Park._

_._

“I’ve never understood it.”

“What is there to understand? It’s snow, dear boy, it’s nice!”

“Nh... _Nice._ ” 

The demon crunched through the park alongside his friend, following a gravel path along the northern border of the lake. It was deep into December and the other walkers were wrapped up to the nines in thick coats and mittens, hats pulled low over hair and faces rosy beneath. London’s parks were never empty, even on the coldest days, and there were plenty of humans making their way along the gravel paths, but all were moving faster than the angel and the demon, who had nowhere particularly they needed to be, following their lunch earlier that afternoon. 

They drew to the side as a horse drawn carriage trundled past, a young couple bundled up together inside, and Crowley thought for a while on how much better life was now that horse drawn carriages were reserved for fleecing tourists, rather than the mainstay of transportation. At his shoulder, Aziraphale was busy expounding on the week’s predicted weather. It was to be Christmas in a few days - yet again. London’s usual precipitation was due to freeze. The angel seemed very excited by this. 

The demon eyed his friend, shoving his fingers deeper into his pockets. He disliked winter as a rule. There was still a shadow of the snake in him, cold blooded to the last. He liked heat, and sun, and basking. He loved the oppressive weight of August, and the breaking warmth of June. December was not really his scene at all. Some years, he slept right through it, including the frivolous human celebrations near the end. New Years was all right, but Christmas? Crowley was not a huge fan of Christmas. He had been there at the first Christmas and it had been damp and miserable even then. Though at least he’d managed to get the last room at the inn, the demon reminded himself. It could have been worse. 

“It just rather brightens the place up, doesn’t it?” The angel finished whatever point he was making about snow and beamed up at the demon. “Plus, it’s romantic. Inspires lots of songs, and stories, and art. People like it.”

His cheeks were rosy, Crowley noted. He looked cherubic, in a renaissance painting sense of the word. Winter became Aziraphale. Wrapped in knitwear beneath his cream coat, and a thick grey woollen scarf, he looked just the part. Of course, their kind did not have to suffer from cold like humans did. A quick miracle, a slight stretch of reality, and Crowley and Aziraphale could be as toasty as if they were sunning themselves in the south of France. The effort of bending reality to keep himself warm would be worth it, for the demon, who had not bothered to add anything to his usual ensemble. The angel, on the other hand, lacked the need and the inclination. He liked dressing up like a human, liked feeling the cold air sting his cheeks above comfortable layers of cloth. He was a very physical creature, for something born to exist beyond matter. Crowley found it fascinating and irritating all at once. 

“I still think it’s a waste of perfectly good rain,” he grumbled, watching Aziraphale’s face fall into a little bit of a sulk. 

‘Oh, you’re no fun,” the angel sighed, breath clouding in the air, feet crunching against the frozen gravel as they resumed their leisurely stroll.

They had been walking companionably for half an hour now, with no particular destination in mind. Crowley thought the park might have been his friend’s suggestion, but he couldn’t be sure. Lunch had been his, having read about a new hotel opening in the newspaper the other day that he had thought the angel might like. He had been correct, of course. The new hotel had a marvellous restaurant and Aziraphale had enjoyed himself immensely, picking through the menu, ordering for the both of them, even the demon had no intention of eating half of what came out. It was not that Crowley did not like to eat. He did, from time to time. He enjoyed it like any other physical pleasure. He just had very specific tastes. Too specific, he thought to himself. He liked rare meat, and sesame ice cream, and watching Aziraphale make little noises of delight as he put things in his mouth. 

Crowley shoved his fingers a little deeper into his pockets, postponing the moment that he would have to stretch reality, to keep himself warmer. The angel would reprimand him and he probably would need that, at some point, to put distance between them. Best save it, he told himself, sauntering a little faster along the gravel path. Break glass, in case of emergency. 

“Do you have plans, for the weekend?” Aziraphale asked, at his right shoulder.

The demon glanced down. 

“The weekend?”

“Friday. Christmas day,” the angel lifted his eyebrows slightly. “I know the religious implications aren’t really your scene, but I imagine the human trappings of the celebration are much dead on. All that gluttony, and sloth, and lust-,”

“How is lust anything to do with Christmas?” The demon scoffed. 

Aziraphale looked over at another of the horse drawn carriages, trundling past, romancing tourists entwined together in the back. 

“I don’t know. They do tend to get worked up around the holidays, though,” he said, watching the humans fondly. “It just seems to be part of it.”

“Clearly I’ve been attending the wrong sort of parties,” Crowley quipped, forcing his eyes back forwards and his feet to resume their walking. 

The pair wandered a little further along the frosty path. 

The demon wondered, for a while, why Aziraphale automatically assumed that he spent his spare time seeking out opportunities to soak himself in sin. Temptations and inconvenience were his job, to be sure, but there was a limit to how much human sin a demon needed to soak itself it. Besides, humans had this way of making gluttony and sloth, and even lust, multifaceted and not really even all that evil, when you came down to it. They had this inherent balance in them which often messed with Crowley’s best laid plans, and made him secretly sure that both his and Aziraphale’s jobs here were at least ninety percent pointless. 

It was a damn sight better than spending an eternity in Hell, however, so he had no intention of ever sharing that thought aloud - especially not with the angel. Aziraphale was deeply devoted to his idea of spreading peace and harmony through the world, and Crowley didn’t see much harm in letting him enjoy it. The humans would counter it with equal measures of strife and discord, and he would always be there to muck things up. And that was what gave life its delightful flavour, wasn’t it? Contrast.

“Speaking of parties, you should pop by on Friday, if you’re not busy,” the angel continued, rubbing his hands idly against one another even though he didn’t really need to - both on account of his being a supernatural being and the fact that he was wearing thick leather gloves. (He had seen people doing it and liked the way it looked). “I’m having a few people around, for drinks, in the afternoon. Just a silly thing, really,” he shot Crowley a furtive glance. “You’d be very welcome.”

“Not work colleagues, then?”

Aziraphale pulled a face. 

"Goodness no…”

That warmed the demon. A silly little smile tugged at his lips for a second, before he mastered himself and turned it into a sneer. 

“Shame. I can imagine Gabriel, getting on the eggnog.” 

“Oh, don’t…”

“Definitely handsy with a few drinks in him, that one,” Crowley pushed on, and was rewarded with a little chuckle from his friend. “Wouldn’t want to meet him on the way back from the toilets.” He arched a brow, “down a long hallway, the music up loud, the lights down low…”

“Clearly you _have_ been attending the wrong sort of parties.”

“Or the right ones,” suggested Crowley. 

“Well,” Aziraphale threw a quelling look over. “The offer stands, regardless. It will just be a few boring old fuddy-duddies, with no families to go to. The conversation will be heavy on philosophy and cartography, and a number of other things you have no interest in, but there will be ample wine and I’m making those little bruschetta that you adore.” Crowley gave a soft hum. He did adore the little bruschetta. “And I’d love to have you there. So, if you’re free,” Aziraphale tailed off, looking, for the first time, a little nervous, “you’d be very welcome.” 

Crowley met his eyes and was forced to concentrate rather hard on the sound of gravel crunching under their feet for a moment. He had to remind himself that he had spent the last however many years as custodian of a reputation, of an image, and that Anthony J. Crowley did not flush pink to be invited to an evening soiree full of boring old gentlemen and canapés, even if it was the first party invite he had ever received from the angel and it did mean rather a lot. 

He gave a little shrug. 

“I’ll probably be busy,” he drawled, careful to stress the nonchalance of the reply, lest Aziraphale mistake it for a refusal. “I’ll put it in the diary, though, just in case.”

The angel smiled. “Excellent.”

They walked a little further through the park. 

Around them, the clouds were closing in a little. In the distance, Crowley could hear the hubbub of the street, cars and busses and people surging around the place. They were near enough to the edge of the park to make out the windows of the expensive houses that surrounded it. Lights glowed in many of their windows, tiny patches of gold, pinpricked with Christmas bulbs and the outline of small pine trees. Crowley wondered if Aziraphale had a Christmas tree. He wondered if he should get a Christmas tree. It might serve as a warning of what can happen to plants that don't pull their weight, he thought. There were certainly some philodendron back at his flat which could do with a good scare. In the end, he dismissed the idea as frivolous, however. 

Turning a corner, they passed a pair of young men walking in the other direction, both wrapped tightly in mittens and coats. The way they were standing was too close to be friends, thought the demon, watching the way their feet fell, unafraid of hips, or arms, or shoulders brushing. Occasionally, one would lean in and murmur something into the other’s ear, or against their neck. Outside of certain circles, in certain bars, at certain times, it was rare to see such a display of intimacy, but the world was changing, the demon thought. There were things that were taboo just a decade ago that were allowed, now. The fringes of society had a way of knitting themselves together, until they were a new part of the tapestry. If they were important enough, they would last forever. Or, at least, for humanity’s forever. 

This had to be one of those important things, the demon mused, watching the two young men nearly slip on a patch of ice - the brown haired man grabbing the slighter one by the elbow, to make sure he did not fall. They passed within feet of the angel and demon, before carrying on, towards the centre of the park, eyes only for each other. It certainly looked like one of the important things. 

Turning back forwards, Crowley pushed his glasses a little further up the bridge of his nose. At his shoulder, he could feel Aziraphale watching with that interested, open look he wore sometimes. It was one of the oddities about his friend, the demon thought. He would fluster terribly talking about theology, or Heaven and Hell, but he was far less reserved when it came to human things than the demon was. He loved nothing better than a good natter on the awkward antics of humanity. The more awkward, the better. Crowley could sense some form of comment coming, and sure enough…

“You know, I think I might have been unfair, in saying the way they celebrate the holidays is gluttonous, or slothful, or lustful,” Aziraphale sighed, watching the human couple as they retreated up the path. His eyes slipped back over onto Crowley, irises very pale in the winter light. “They probably mean it to be more like joy, and peace, and love. They do seem to have good intentions, most of the time.”

“Not all of them,” the demon grumbled. “Believe me.”

“Well, no Crowley, not _all_ of them.” The angel gave an exasperated little eye roll. “But, from my experience, most of them are trying to do their best. It just doesn’t always land correctly.”

The demon felt a little squirm of indignation. 

“Yeah? And who exactly decides whether something ‘lands correctly’?” 

“Well, I mean,” the angel’s gaze darted upwards.

“Oh, please,” the demon scoffed. “As if God gives a damn who we love.” 

As soon as the words had left his lips, the demon regretted them. Aziraphale had been talking about gluttony, sloth and lust. That he had chosen to focus on love was more telling about Crowley than about the conversation as a whole. The fact that he had used ‘we’ rather than ‘they’ was even more telling. Trying desperately to remember that he was Anthony J. Crowley, and that he didn’t flush like a schoolgirl, the demon curled his fingers into fists within the tight confines of his trouser pockets. 

“Well,” said Aziraphale, after ten seconds or so had passed in silence, apart from the soft crunch of their feet on gravel. “I don’t imagine God does mind who we love, but I do imagine They mind very much _how_ we love.” The angel glanced over at Crowley, wearing that carefully curated neutral expression that he liked to wear during a debate, or a philosophical argument. (The sort that Crowley generally tried to avoid because it always came back to God, in the end. And they could never agree on that). “That’s all I was trying to say,” the angel added, a little more softly. “A comment on lust versus love, sloth versus peace, gluttony versus joy… I didn’t mean that there was anything incorrect about those young men. And, for the record, I think that the laws coming through to protect them are terribly important.” He glanced back over his shoulder, towards the retreating figures on the frosty path. To Crowley’s surprise, he blushed a little as he looked back around. It was hard to see through the rosiness of his cheeks, but it was there. A shy little flush, creeping over the crest of his cheekbones. “You know how I feel about all of that, Crowley.”

“Ngk.” The demon gave a noncommittal response. 

“A little more love in the world can only be a good thing,” Aziraphale said, softly.

“And that’s heaven’s policy, is it?” Crowley asked, feeling entirely out of his depth, but for some reason still talking. “Sounds a lot more merciful than most human policies.”

“Actually, as far as i’m aware, we don’t have a policy.” 

“Yeah, neither do we,” the demon muttered, still feeling a little indignant and knowing that he should just stop talking and let the conversation die a natural death. Aziraphale would drop the subject, the demon knew he would - as soon as he realised it was making Crowley uncomfortable. Something in him kept going, however. “It seems to be a bit of a human preoccupation, worrying about it all. Though, I suppose Hell has actively encouraged their whole weirdness about genitalia.”

The angel’s eyebrows slid up and his eyes scanned Crowley’s face, as if searching for any sign that the demon was messing with him. All he found was a growing pinkness in his cheeks, however. 

“Well,” Aziraphale murmured, sounding a little caught off guard. “It does sound like something your lot would do.”

“Yeah,” Crowley felt his lips move again, quite on their own accord, gathering pace as if seeking to match the level of awkwardness.“I mean, the whole ‘eat the apple’ business was innocent enough, to start with… Well, not innocent, but it was just about letting them know their options and pissing your lot off, not about what they had between their legs.” Why was he still talking? He did not want to talk about this. He had spent many years actively not talking about this. “Nobody knew it would be all - oh look, you’re naked now, better do something about that - that bit came as a surprise. It was all a bit left field, on the humans’ part. The whole thing about having to cover up their bodies, and being worried about whose genitals looked like whose, and caring about where everyone wanted to put everything…” His cheeks were properly red now, he could feel them burning. “Really not what I intended at all.” 

Aziraphale’s eyebrows were somewhere close to his untidy hairline. 

“Didn’t have a clue that’s where things would end up,” the demon continued, voice a little higher than it usually was, “but they were jolly enthusiastic about the whole thing and suddenly everyone had an opinion - and some of it was pretty nasty, you know. Even though they also figured out some pretty decent stuff, too.” He closed his eyes. He actually closed his eyes. “But I was only meaning to cause a bit of trouble. It wasn't supposed to be anything to do with who people wanted to have sex with.” Great. Now he was talking about sex. This was just great. “And it’s all rather ironic, really. It was just supposed to be a sodding apple.” He gave a little cough and opened his eyes, finding, to his great relief, that he had exhausted his supply of words. 

Across the path, Aziraphale stared at him blankly for all of five seconds, then his face split into a grin and a tiny laugh escaped him.

Crowley grimaced. His cheeks were burning worse than ever. This was it, he told himself. This was how he was going to discorporate. Or cease to exist entirely. This was how he died.

“I-,” Across a foot or so of path, the angel managed to contain himself for a moment, then his eyes swept Crowley’s red face again and he dissolved once more into laughter.“Oh, I’m sorry, my dear,” he gasped. “I just d-didn’t-, didn’t expect all of that-,”

“All right. No need to go on…” Even his damned ears were blushing.

“S-sorry-,” Aziraphale raised a hand to cover his mouth. 

“Just shut up, won’t you?”

“Yes. Of course. Would you-,” he gave a little snigger. “Would you rather we go back to talking about the weather?” He finally managed, between waves of mirth. 

Crowley closed his eyes. He felt very stupid. His face was red, his stomach was churning with embarrassment but - in a bizarre turn of events - a grin was starting to creep across his face. He couldn’t figure it out. It was all so ridiculous. Aziraphale was laughing at him, but he wasn’t _really_ laughing at him. He was laughing with him, and there was something soft in the way the angel was smiling, something warm in the tension around his eyes. And Crowley’s traitorous mouth, that wouldn’t stop talking, was stretching into a proper smile. 

Talk about the weather, indeed. Bloody angel. 

“Actually, the weather would be great,” he tried to fight the grin, cheeks still burning, ears still red. “We can talk about snow again, if you’d like?”

Aziraphale took one look at him and dissolved into laughter once more.

“You are _such_ an ass…” Crowley hissed, but only half heartedly. 

Then, they were both laughing - uncontrollable, shaking laughter, that filled the demon up from his toes. He could barely breathe. He wasn’t sure where it had come from. It had just sort of broken into life inside of him, warm against the cold, protection against December. It was all so silly - the whole situation was all so silly. It had been a ridiculous fluster, a completely over the top response to what had been a perfectly legitimate conversation, and it was only because he was talking to Aziraphale that he’d reacted that way. He knew it was. The angel knew it, too, but somehow he seemed okay with it, today. Somehow, instead of frightening him, it was making his eyes catch the light and pulling the corners of his perfectly pink mouth back to show perfectly white teeth. Somehow, they were both shaking with laughter.

For a minute or two, they continued to walk along the path, alternating between little bursts of chuckling. Their breath clouded in the cold air, mixing with the sound of their feet on the gravel and the distant sound of London. As they reached the last great sweeping curve of lawn, and the gates of the park came distantly into sight, Crowley felt Aziraphale give a little sigh and pull himself together. As he did so, the angel moved a little closer across the gravel path, allowing their shoulders to brush on every alternate step. The demon found he didn’t have it in himself to pull away. 

“I'm sorry,” his friend gave a little sniff of December air. "I didn’t mean to laugh. I just wasn’t expecting all of that.” 

“Yeah, well,” Crowley grimaced, “that makes two of us.” 

“Where did it come from?” 

“Hell knows. Probably the cold weather affecting my brain. I should really be hibernating. Any half-decent snake would be,” the demon blustered. Then, as Aziraphale left him slightly too long in silence, he forced himself to continue. “I suppose it’s a bit of a touchy subject.” 

“Because?” 

The demon glanced sideways. 

“Oh, well, you know-,” He had never said this out loud, before. It had always been implied in jokes, or throwaway comments, but he had never actually said it. The thought of doing so made his mortal body squirm. He was nervous, Crowley realised, with a start. He had no business being nervous, it was such a human thing to worry about, but he was nervous anyway. Aziraphale’s approval was the only approval that he cared about, in the world. “I, uh-,” The words that had been pouring out of him, earlier, were suddenly coming too slow. “I suppose it’s because I spend more time in this shape than any other," he eventually managed. "So, even though I’m not a man, that’s how people see me. And, well… that’s kind of my scene too, you know? Other man-shaped creatures of the world… that’s, uh, what I like… So…” he stalled. 

“So, you notice the way the world sees them?” Aziraphale suggested, softly. “Those young men.” 

He didn’t have any blush left. Of that, Crowley was glad. 

“Yeah,” he said eventually, into the silence between them. “Yeah, I suppose I do.” 

He suddenly realised that they had stopped walking and were just standing at the side of the path, looking at one another. Clearing his throat, he turned and resumed their walk, and Aziraphale fell into step beside him. The angel was smiling. Not the same smile as he had worn earlier, but something softer. 

“I did know, you know,” he said, gently, after a few seconds had passed. “Have done for a long time.”

“Yeah?” 

“Yes.” 

“And it doesn’t bother you?” Crowley pulled a face. “I mean, it’s a bit odd, for one of our kind. Angels and demons don’t tend to go in for that sort of thing, as a rule, and when they do their tastes run a little less specific. Bit of a kink, for one of us.” 

The angel’s smile gave a little twitch. 

“It has never bothered me.” He tucked his gloved hands under his arms - another little move that he probably just liked the look of it. He was a ridiculous excuse for an angel, thought Crowley, admiringly. “It’s just how you feel, isn’t it?” The angel was saying, throwing him a soft little look. “It’s just you.” 

“As far as I’m aware,” Crowley replied, and the tight feeling in his throat, all the nerves, were suddenly gone. Relief was leaping through him and he felt buoyant and playful. He made a show of checking his own hands and patting down his sides, checking that he was, indeed, him. “Yup. Definitely me.” 

“Well, then,” Aziraphale smiled. “It must be okay.” 

Crowley grinned back, a little stupidly. He couldn’t help himself. “Cool.” 

They walked back towards the gate, the demon sauntering with a little more bounce in his step than was usual, and conversation turned to practicalities - where Crowley had parked the Bentley, and who owed who for dinner, and would Aziraphale mind carrying out a little temptation when he was up in Oxford next week, because it would spare the demon the holiday traffic. As was usual, the angel agreed with very minimal persuasion needed and the pair continued to chatter about this and that until they reached the gates. There, Aziraphale looked wistfully back over his shoulder at the park. 

“Oh, I do hope it snows,” he sighed, “it always feels more festive when there’s snow.” 

“Come on, angel,” Crowley grumbled and headed off down the road towards Portland square. 

.

They reached the car as the first flakes began to fall, clouding in circles around the Christmas lights, falling in flurries to the frozen ground. 

The were good flakes, proper flakes, each unique and perfectly symmetrical. It would lie, given time, and stay until it became a nuisance to the people of London - remaining just long enough to disrupt the transport system but not quite long enough for people to get a day off work. It would fall into the night, so that people could have the pleasure of seeing it glide past the street lamps, and settle on window sills. The weather reports would crow about their predictions being right, and then about global warming, and then about which governmental figure was to blame for all of it. The children of the city would go out to the parks and pavements and make snowmen, coming home pink cheeked to soak their parent’s carpets. It was perfect snow. Too perfect not to be born of some miracle. 

It was some humans, nearby, who spotted the flakes first. Giving squeals of delight, they grasped at one another, gesturing up to the sky. Noticing their movements, Aziraphale looked up and gave his own little noise of delight. Reaching out, he touched Crowley gently on the elbow. 

“Look,” he turned on the spot, looking up at the snow - at Crowley’s just a little too perfect snow. As he completed his revolution, his fingers dropped from the demon’s elbow but his head turned around to face him, their eyes locking. “Your work?” He asked, breathlessly. 

“Yup.” Crowley had his hands back in his pockets, hoping the effect was casual. A few flakes had already landed on his glasses, obscuring a little of his vision, but he wasn’t at all up for taking them off at the moment. He was feeling a little vulnerable, for no particular reason.

“Oh, Crowley,” the angel beamed at him. “Thank you. It’s beautiful.”

There was a segue there, as they looked into one another’s eyes, but the demon did not take it. Instead, he dipped his head in deference to the angel’s thanks and looked around at the flakes, swirling around the humans and the square. Aziraphale hummed a little with pleasure. There had been no pretence of the snow being for any other reason than to please him, Crowley thought. Both of them knew that. 

“Made sense to give you your gift now,” he grumbled, at the angel. “As I probably won’t make your Christmas party.” Aziraphale beamed again, and the demon was forced to wrinkle his nose at the surrounding snow to keep his head. “Still don’t know why you like it so much. Waste of perfectly good rain. And it’s cold.” 

Aziraphale chuckled. Then, as if realising something, he reached up and unwound the scarf from around his neck. 

Crowley spotted what he was going to do seconds before it happened, and gave a growl of protest. He didn’t get his hands out his pockets fast enough, however, and the angel was suddenly closing the distance between them, reaching up, and looping the still-warm scarf around his neck. 

“Oh, for Ssss… No, angel,” the demon hissed, squirming as the angel wound it once, twice, and then tossed the end over his shoulder. “I don’t need-,” 

“It’s a gift,” the angel chirped. “Early, like you said, just in case you don’t make the party.” 

They watched one another, only a foot apart. Both of them knew he would make the party. It was too good an offer to resist. There would be wine, and opportunities to tempt the other partygoers, and endless fodder that could be applied to future teasing of the angel. There would be little bruschetta, which Crowley adored, and Aziraphale, who… well…Crowley would be there, even if he would spend the whole evening pretending not to enjoy himself. 

“Thankss,” the demon muttered, his voice a touch sibilant, his body a touch warm inside. “Never had a sscarf, before.”

“Not at all.” Aziraphale reached out and touched the end of the scarf, tugging it slightly. “It suits you.” 

The demon made a tiny noise of disgust at the back of his throat. Snow was falling between them, catching in the angel’s hair, and melting on his cheeks. One flake had caught in his eyelashes. It was, as the angel had said earlier, all very romantic and very lovely - and thinking about it made him feel very sick to his stomach. Or, something was making him feel sick, anyways. Might have been his heart, throbbing a bit too fast inside his chest. It was hard to make out, through all the cliche. 

“Shall I give you a lift back, then?” He asked, in his most bored and disinterested tone. “No point freezing your wings off in this.” 

“That would be lovely.” Aziraphale nodded and, giving the scarf a last little pat, he stepped back and made his way around to the other side of the car. 

Pulling a face at himself, while the angel was turned in the opposite direction, Crowley slouched over to the driver’s side door, slithered into his seat, and drove the pair of them haphazardly back through the swirling snow towards the small bookshop. It should have been less than ten minutes away, but the demon took a detour around some of the backroads, making claims about nonexistent roadworks, so he could watch Aziraphale enjoying the snow a little longer. 

Arriving across the street, they sat for a minute, loitering in the car with the engine idling.

“Well, I might see you this weekend, then?” 

“Mm,” the demon shrugged. “Probably not. Very busy.”

“Okay.” The angel watched him carefully for a moment then, looking down just a touch shy, said “Merry Christmas, Crowley.”

“Yup. You too.” Crowley stared straight ahead, fingers gripping the steering wheel. There was a strange buzzing in his head. Through the fog of it, a thought occurred. “Fucking cold thing, snow,” he muttered, giving his hand a little wave and raising the temperature in the near vicinity by about five degrees. 

In case of emergency, break glass. 

The frivolous use of magic caused Aziraphale to give a little huff of disapproval and, muttering about the nearby humans noticing, stimulated him to move on from the car. By the time Crowley looked around, the angel was already out and closing the door behind him, throwing the demon a little wave back through the window. 

“Mind how you go, then,” he called, rapping his fingertips affectionately on the Bentley’s bonnet as he walked around it, out across the street. Reaching the other side, Crowley saw him turn on the spot, looking up at the snow. Then, as if putting on a little show because he knew the demon would still be watching, Aziraphale gestured appreciatively up at the sky. 

A smile pulling at his lips, Crowley reached down and knocked the car into gear. 

The engine growled back into life, accompanied by the smell of unburnt fuel, and he pulled out into traffic just as the angel disappeared back through the door of his shop. Navigating his way out into busy streets, Crowley absently cursed the pedestrians who stopped to crane their necks up at his snow, loitering in his way. More trouble than it was worth, he thought, as the hot, bubbling feeling in his stomach faded back to its normal gentle simmer. Stupid, cold, wet stuff. Winter in general wasn’t worth the bother. Christmas certainly wasn’t worth the bother. 

He kept the scarf, though, changing its appearance to fit with whatever outfit was currently in vogue. Having it there, lying against his chest, was an indescribable comfort and Crowley turned out to need that, more and more, as the years went by. The demon made sure to always bring the angel snow, too, at least once every year. It was a little bit romantic, after all. And romance was secretly a little bit his scene, too. 

.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me lurking on [IG](https://www.instagram.com/heycaricari/), [Twitter](https://twitter.com/heycaricari), and [Tumblr](https://heycaricari.tumblr.com/) @heycaricari


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